


Tipping Point

by Innibis



Series: The Goblin War [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family divided, Goblin War, Grief/Mourning, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Patronus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sacrifice, Unintended Consequences, love in a hopless place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innibis/pseuds/Innibis
Summary: It was easier than they had anticipated. The humans, in their self-congratulatory arrogance at the defeat of Voldemort, failed to notice, as they had always failed to notice, that there was unrest in the shadows. So, on a sunny afternoon on the last day of July when the doors of Gringotts closed for the first time since the Goblin Rebellion, there was only the vague assumption that the goblins were taking advantage of the holiday for employee training, a notion reinforced by the fact that all of Gringotts' human employees were called in. It wasn’t until that night, when the doors had yet to open, and the wizards and witches had yet to return home, that it occurred to anyone that there might be a problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Putting the blame squarely on recent conversations with other old school shippers that made me want to possibly start writing again after 72 years off, but in the meantime I'm moving stuff over from LJ. For posterity I guess? It was a miracle I remembered that account’s password. . .
> 
> I'm drinking wine as I spam AO3 with my old, old stuff. Toasting libgirl who was the beta who brought me through this particular battle.

It was easier than they had anticipated. The humans, in their self-congratulatory arrogance at the defeat of Voldemort, failed to notice, as they had always failed to notice, that there was unrest in the shadows. So, on a sunny afternoon on the last day of July when the doors of Gringotts closed for the first time since the Goblin Rebellion, there was only the vague assumption that the goblins were taking advantage of the holiday for employee training, a notion reinforced by the fact that all of Gringotts' human employees were called in. It wasn’t until that night, when the doors had yet to open, and the wizards and witches had yet to return home, that it occurred to anyone that there might be a problem.   


* * *

Ron’s lungs were burning. He held his breath, not wanting to inhale the searing smoke, and staggered blindly, arms outstretched towards the corner he knew Harry had been standing in before the explosion. Ron’s straining fingers encountered a shoulder. He tugged Harry into his arms and Apparated out as the ceiling collapsed.

Ron gulped clean, cool air as they arrived at Grimmuald Place, relieved to hear Harry doing the same. He gave his best friend a quick, tight squeeze before stepping back, keeping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. "Alright, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry wheezed, ineffectively rubbing at the soot on his glasses. Harry’s singed hair was standing straight up, causing Ron to chuckle in spite of himself.

"Give ‘em to me," he said, grasping the bridge of Harry’s glasses and pulling them off. Harry blinked, his eyes so green on his dirty face, but didn’t protest as Ron tapped the lenses with his wand in a quick glass cleaning spell. "Don’t know why you just don’t get your eyes fixed," Ron said, handing the glasses back to Harry.

"I like them," Harry protested defensively.

"Yeah, a regular fashion statement," Ron replied.

Harry cast an Impervious charm on the couch and the two friends slumped on it unceremoniously. "We should probably let Kingsley know that we were in the building and that we’re alright," Harry spoke quietly. "He isn’t going to be pleased that we were there, but it’s better than him thinking we might be dead or hurt or something."

Ron nodded, "I left my cloak there. It might make them worry. I’ll tell Kingsley, you tell Mum." Harry grimaced, but called his Patronus, ghosting his fingers over the stag’s head before he sent it to Molly Weasley.

Ron took a fortifying breath and cast the spell, seeing Harry turn his head away as his Patronus took form. "Kingsley, we were in the building, but we’re fine. Will debrief tomorrow." He flicked his wand to send the animal to Kingsley, but it waited, as it had waited for the past two-and-a-half years, for Ron and then Harry to touch its head. Only then did the otter disappear.

"Goblins, Death Eaters or New Order?" Harry mused idly, his shoulder touching Ron’s, offering up the threads of conversation to change the unspoken subject.

"Don’t know. Don’t care at the moment," Ron said and then straightened as Kreacher pushed through the kitchen door, a decidedly displeased expression on his face. "Harry did it," Ron exclaimed, pointing at Harry.

"Wheezy is not to be blaming Master Harry," Kreacher said sternly. He turned his attention to Harry as Harry snickered, "and Master Harry is not to be thinking Kreacher is stupid." Harry sobered instantly. The old house elf sighed, "Go wash, Kreacher will make food."

Ron’s subconscious added "Boys!" and an eye roll to the end of Kreacher’s sentence and winced.

They leaned against each other as they stood, automatically offering support as weary, lead-filled limbs protested. "Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said quietly, "We’ll be down in a bit."

"Take your time, Master," Kreacher replied, his wizened face softening at he looked at the young men standing before him. "Master and Wheezy need food and rest tonight." The house elf turned and walked back through the kitchen door.

"Ready?" Ron asked as he stared apprehensively at the long staircase.

"Let’s go, then," Harry sighed and the friends began to climb the stairs in companionable silence.

* * *

Things could be worse, Ron supposed as he lay in his bed, clean and full-bellied with Harry safe and sleeping in the room across the hall. Ron could be held in the bowels of Gringotts like Bill, if Bill was even still alive. He could be fighting on the front lines like Charlie, or a spy like Percy, or empty like George, or he could be confused and hurting and have joined the New Order like Ginny. He could be maimed or starving or homeless or crazy, like so many witches and wizards seemed to be these days.

Or Harry could be dead.

Ron Weasley had survived a lot in the three years since the Goblin War began, but he was pretty sure that the day Harry Potter died would be the day Ron’s heart would just stop beating. There was nothing else for it. What Ron had learned, because she had always been insistent that he _learn_ from his experiences, was that there was not a thing in this world that he couldn’t withstand. No loss too great, no betrayal too breath-taking or scene too grisly or torture too painful that he couldn’t limp away to fight again - as long as he had Harry.

It was late. He should be asleep. Instead, Ron rose from his bed, pausing to pull a pair of dirty jeans over his bare ass and moved out of his room and across the hall to Harry’s. Neither ever closed their door. It was understood that some nights the voices in their heads were too loud to be drowned out by anything other than the steady breathing of a friend in the dark. So, Ron stood in the doorway of Harry’s room, leaning against the frame as he listened to The Boy Who Lived snore.   


* * *

The humans had stolen for the last time. Their precious hero, the golden child with the thin face and his sturdy friends had used an Unforgivable curse on one of their own, had taken back a sword that was rightfully theirs and had stolen a dragon. And he was celebrated. Revered as a pillar of Wizarding society. That entire year the goblins waited for an apology, or even an acknowledgement of the great wrong that had been done to them. They were patient, for the world had been turned on its head, and they knew that Harry Potter was aware of his transgressions. He never went to Gringotts in person anymore, relying on Bill Weasley to make withdrawals in his name.

So they waited and they planned. Just in case. They gave the unknowing wizard a deadline of his nineteenth birthday. That year brought representatives from every goblin clan to the bank in England, each clan corresponding to a separate branch of Gringotts. The ignorant humans never noticed - a goblin from Seoul looked the same as a goblin from Lima, as far as they were concerned.

On July 31, at exactly noon London time, the doors of the Gringotts banks across the globe swung shut trapping the unsuspecting humans inside. As the final middy chime from the Gringott’s clock tower in Diagon Alley faded, the witches and wizards of Gringotts found themselves surrounded, the first casualties of the newest goblin war. 

* * *

Ron woke to sun streaming into his room and Harry’s raised voice floating up from somewhere downstairs.

Without thinking, clad only in the jeans from his nocturnal wandering, Ron grabbed his wand and raced down the steps, bursting into the kitchen with his wand raised and his free fist clenched. The sight of his sister in the kitchen did not make him lower his wand, and he pushed that terrible regret to the side as he confronted her.

"What do you want, Ginerva?" he growled.

"Ever the charmer, Ronniekins," she said, unconcernedly and Ron’s chest ached as he looked at his beautiful, too thin, cold, misguided little sister in the sunlight. He hadn’t seen her in two years.

"My fault," Harry said, "I never even thought about the fact that she was still privy to the Fidelus. I’ll be rectifying that shortly." Harry’s voice was icy as he stared at his old flame. "No kiss for old time’s sake. Gin?" he sneered.

"You wish, Potter," Ginny said, flipping her shiny red hair before sitting at the kitchen table. "Kreacher, may I have some tea please?" she asked. Kreacher looked at Harry, who nodded tersely, before sidling over to put the kettle on.

Harry and Ron remained standing, looking down at Ginny as she gazed back at them. Ron broke the look and turned to Harry, "What’s going on, Harry?"

"No idea," Harry said, not taking his eyes off the enemy like the well trained Auror he was. "She popped into the kitchen babbling about that explosion yesterday and some kind of deal."

"So you know something about it, do you Ginny?" Ron’s voice was cool, "Second thoughts? Could it be that my little sister’s re-grown her heart?" Ron asked turning back to Ginny as Kreacher silently handed her a mug of steaming tea.

"Thanks," she said warmly to the house elf before shifting her attention to her brother. "Think what you want of my choices in life Ron, gods know I question yours, but you are my brother and I would have been sorry if you had been killed yesterday. We’ve already lost Fred and Dad and probably Bill. Not to mention Her-"

"Do not complete that sentence," Ron snarled.

Ginny sipped her tea, unfazed. "My saying it or not saying it won’t change anything, Ron, but I’m not here to fight with you."

"Then why are you here, Ginny, other than your touching concern for your brother’s welfare?"

"I do still love the both of you, Harry. I miss you," Ginny’s face clouded for a moment before the mask of cool efficiency was back in place. "I’m here to ask you to join the New Order," she said.

"No," Ron said simply, sitting down across from his sister.

"No," Harry said, sitting down next to Ron, briefly putting his hand on top of Ron’s and squeezing before letting go to toy idly with his wand.

Ginny’s eyebrows raised, "Still no?" she set her mug down with frustration. "Damn it, you two!" she hissed. "When are _you_ going to start living up to your responsibilities?" she demanded, stabbing her finger at Harry, "and when are _you_ going to stop following him around like some lost puppy and think for yourself?" She asked Ron.

"And when are _you_ going to stop pretending that you don’t work for a terrorist organization that set off what amounts to a bomb in the Aurors' Office yesterday night?" Ron yelled. "Merlin’s Balls, Ginerva! You’re lucky that Harry and I were the only ones in there and that you didn’t kill anyone!"

"Nobody was supposed to be in there," Ginny said quickly, "it was just supposed to be a warning."

"A warning about what, you stupid girl?" Ron bellowed, "You and your precious order have no idea what you are fighting against, let alone what you are fighting for. Just because you call it the Order of the Phoenix does not make it the Order of the Phoenix." He pulled at his hair in frustration before slamming his hands down on the table, making the tea cups rattle.

"Why now, Ginny?" Harry asked, ignoring the siblings' shows of temper.

Ginny glanced over at Harry before turning her appeal to Ron, "Because I miss you. I miss my family. Because we almost killed you last night, and I can’t bear to be on a different side of the fight than you are."

Ron shot his hand out across the table and grasped his sister’s wrist. "Ginny, stop it. I know you’re remembering the good old days when it was the Order against the world, but you have to see that this is not the same thing." It was odd, thought Ron, to consider that final, horrible, hungry year before Harry had killed Voldemort as the good old anything. "Kingsley is a fine minister. Shit, Harry and I are Team Leads in the Aurors. Think about what you are doing. The Ministry is already fighting the goblins and the Death Eater resurgence; please don’t make us fight you as well."

Ginny shook her head stubbornly, "He should have known better. There were signs-"

"We all should have known better, Gin," Harry said wearily. "None of us saw it, not even Bill or your dad. I just- I don’t understand what you are trying to accomplish."

Ginny drew herself up to address Harry but let Ron keep hold of her wrist. "We are fighting for a better world, one where the rights of goblins and house elves and everyone are respected. Surely you can understand that? Harry, what you caused by your disrespect for goblins-"

"Shut it," Ron growled, hand tightening on Ginny’s wrist.

She plowed on, "-and the continued disrespect by the ministry. Why can’t you try another negotiation?"

Bloody curls flashed into Ron’s mind, empty brown eyes and a shattered wand.

"Has the Order entered into negotiations with the goblins?" Harry asked.

"They don’t recognize us as a legitimate representation of the government, but-"

"But you have attempted to strike a bargain with the goblins? The goblins who have destroyed our economic structure and killed a third of our population over a bloody sword?" Harry demanded.

Ginny’s gaze faltered. "Why haven’t you saved us yet, Harry?" she whispered. Harry’s eyes went blank and Ron ached.

"Don’t you think he would if he could?" Ron asked quietly. "This is an old argument. We can give you immunity. We can keep you safe. You can turn in the location of your bosses and we can have one less front in this three-front war on the Ministry. You can come home."

"I appreciate the offer," Ginny said pulling her hand from her brother’s as she stood up, "but, no. If the Ministry can’t do its job and keep us safe, then we need a new Ministry and if Harry-" she stopped and shook her head. Harry looked away.

Ron rose. "Do you need money? Food? You look thin, Ginny."

For a moment, Ginny looked like she was about to cry, "Still trying to look out for me, are you big brother?"

"Always," Ron said, walking around the table and pulling his sister in for a hug. "I love you. Be safe," he said into her bright hair as he felt her brittle body relax into the embrace.

"You too, Ron. Take care of Harry," Ginny said.

Harry appeared next to them and tucked a small bag of gold into Ginny’s robe pocket. "He always does," he said. Harry and Ginny shared a long look as Ron held his sister in his arms. "I won’t wish you luck, Gin, but I wish you well. Don’t try to come back here. I’ll be changing the wards and would hate to see you hurt." Ginny nodded, and, with visible regret, she pulled away from Ron’s arms and Apparated out of the kitchen.

As Ron felt another piece of his heart break off, Harry’s hand found his shoulder and anchored him.

* * *

"Explain to me why you two were even in the office in the first place? No one is supposed to be there after hours, or any time after sunset. It’s called a curfew for a reason." Kingsley’s voice was calm. Kingsley’s voice was always calm, even when the great, gleaming Ministry had been destroyed, killing half of the Ministry’s employees, even when only essential, surviving Ministry employees had to set up make-shift offices all over the country, and even when he was glaring at his two wayward Aurors' heads bobbing in the fire place of his living room. It was something that Ron admired about him. As long as Kingsley Shacklebolt was in charge, Ron felt a modicum of hope that things might work out.

"Well, Minister," Harry began, shifting so his side was pressed more firmly against Ron’s as they knelt in front of the grate at Grimmuald Place, "we were talking it over after work yesterday, and thought we should try to find a way to get the sword to the goblins, to make it stay with them, and we wanted to look at Hermione’s old notes." Only Harry could say Hermione’s name without making Ron feel sick. Harry rushed on before Kingsley could protest. "It’s a little thing, sir, just a sword. If we aren’t willing to give them something . . . we just don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep this Ministry together. Word from Charlie is that he’s on his way back; Romania has fallen."

"You want to surrender the Sword of Gryffindor?" Kingsley asked, flatly. Ignoring the rest, as he, no doubt, knew more about the state of the world than they did. He certainly was aware of the refugees beginning to pour into the U.K. as, one by one, wizarding governments across the world buckled under the constant goblin guerilla attacks and lack of money. Ron thanked every insanely paranoid Black that had ever walked the earth that their wealth had not been entrusted to goblins and, instead, lay in an enormous vault beneath Grimmuald Place.

"We’d surrender a great deal more to get out of this bloody war," Ron answered. "Not like the sword wasn’t part of the original negotiations."

"Which were emphatically rejected, as you two know," Kingsley said, "What makes you believe they’d accept it now?"

"Hermione thought that there was a risk in not bringing the sword to the negotiations in the first place. She also didn’t think that trying to give the goblins a sword that still might disappear to a true Gryffindor was a well-considered plan. Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe if we break that charm, offer it to them in good faith-" Harry trailed off. There was no way of knowing if the Sword of Gryffindor was an acceptable peace offering to the goblins and the only other attempt at negotiations had been a dismal failure, but they had to try something. The Wizarding World was not going to be able to fight their way out of this and survive as a community. It wasn’t as simple as a quest for Horcruxes and slaying a Dark Lord. There had been no attempt to communicate with the goblins since the initial negotiations had failed so spectacularly. Even the declaration of war from the goblins was simply a list of grievances with no demands, followed by silence. The goblins now spoke only through the ferocity of their attacks, and the desperation of the world as it plunged into an economic depression.

"Harry, I don’t think-" Kingsley sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "You’re right, both of you. We have to try something. I am not opposed to giving them a hunk of metal, what I’m worried about is how such a thing would take place, and who we would have to sacrifice to give back a sword that most likely won’t bring any change to the situation whatsoever." He shook his head to clear it, "I don’t suppose you saved those notes from the burning inferno?"

"Yeah, I put them in my pocket before we got out of there," Ron said.

"Good," Kingsley said "then, since we have no more office to speak of and can’t afford to fix it, I expect you to work on that from Grimmuald Place. You two are the only ones who can get in?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "What about our teams?"

"Check in with them twice a day, but I’ll most likely be re-assigning your people, maybe splitting them up between the other three leads." Kingsley held up his hand to stave off protests. "You two need to concentrate on the sword and the plan surrounding it. Use whomever you need to use. Anything else?"

"It was the New Order that set that explosion, Minister," Ron reported.

"I know, Ron," Kingsley said, "the bank across the street has surveillance cameras and it caught sight of the perpetrators."

"Who?" Ron asked. Kingsley hesitated, "It was Ginny. Also Terry Boot and Luna Lovegood."

"Luna!" Harry exclaimed in shock.

"Her father has joined the Order in a misguided attempt to make up for his mistakes in the Voldemort situation. Luna followed him."

"How’s Percy, Kingsley?" Ron asked, not wanting to think about another friend joining a futile, destructive cause. "An excellent spy," Kingsley smiled sadly, "I miss him a great deal, but he’s doing alright. He’s angry that he didn’t catch wind of the attack on the office, but it appears that the Order is very siloed."

"Not so different, then," Harry muttered.

"At any rate, I’m glad that you two are safe. I’ll check in tomorrow."

Harry and Ron said good-bye and pulled their heads out of the fireplace. Ron turned to face Harry as they remained on their knees on the hardwood floor.

"No," Ron said.

"What do you mean no?" Harry asked, not meeting Ron’s eyes.

"You will not bring that bloody sword to the goblins, Harry. They hate you."

"It’s just a symbol, Ron. _I’m_ just a symbol. It would be fitting, don’t you think? They might even accept it as a jumping off point for negotiations if they can shackle me up in a vault and torture me every year on my birthday."

Ron put his hands on Harry’s shoulders, cold dread seeping through his bones as he shook his best friend until Harry’s teeth rattled. "You are not a fucking symbol! Stop being a self-sacrificing prat and let’s try to think of a way to save the world that doesn’t involve you skipping off to your death."

"What if we can’t?" Harry asked resting his hands on top of Ron’s "What if it turns out that it’s our best option?"

Ron pulled Harry into a desperate hug, "Then I’m going with you."

"Ron-"

"Damn it, Harry!" Ron said harshly into his ear, "Don’t you fucking get it? There is nothing left for me if you’re gone. You know that." He felt Harry hesitantly nod, his wild hair tickling Ron’s cheek. "I’m with you, no matter what." It was no longer strange to reach out to Harry for comfort, or to lend support. After pulling Harry from the lake years ago, after Harry had been dead in front of his eyes and then brought back to life, after Fred had been killed, and Bill had gone missing, then Hermione had been killed, and then his dad, after Ginny had abandoned them, and Percy left to be a spy and his Mum had shuffled George, Fleur, Victorie, Andromeda and Teddy out of the Burrow and to an undisclosed location. . . well it made feeling awkward about touching the one stable thing in his life seem ridiculous.

Harry pulled back and stared into Ron’s eyes. "No matter what," he repeated gruffly. "Shall we look at those notes then?"

"Yeah," Ron said, reluctant to let Harry go, but relieved at his capitulation, "got ‘em right here, mate." 

* * *

Hermione had been so proud to be asked to be part of the negotiations team and Ron couldn’t help but feel more optimistic about the chances of getting Bill back when he saw her. She looked so pretty in her best professional robes, so capable and brilliant and his.

"I will try my very best to get him back, Ron," she had said, looking earnestly up into his face, her brown hair pulled back into a neat plait.

"I know you will," Ron had replied, quickly kissing the tip of her nose, mindful of the people around them and the importance of the occasion. "Your best is better than anyone else’s." She had smiled then and tilted up her chin to kiss him quickly on the lips before being pulled, laughing, into Harry’s arms.

"Oi! Hands off, Potter, you’ve got your own," Ron had grinned at his best friends, slinging an arm over Harry’s shoulder even as Harry maintained his grip on Hermione.

"I love you both," Hermione beamed, "I’ll make you proud."

"You always do, Hermione," Harry said.

"Not a doubt in my mind," Ron replied.

With a final kiss on the cheek for each, Hermione had joined the assembled group of diplomatic wizards from around the world. For the first time in a while, Ron had felt the panic of losing another brother ease. Hermione was involved, and one of the great truths in his life was that Hermione could fix just about anything. Commending Bill and the other bank employees into her capable hands, Ron waved as Hermione turned to exchange one last smile with her boyfriend and her best friend.

That had been the last time Ron and Harry saw Hermione. Well, second to last. The last time was when they had sprinted down Diagon Alley to the foot of Gringotts to find her body lying broken at the bottom of the stairs.

It was Molly Weasley who had come to get her boys. Who had poured tea down their throats when they couldn’t speak, who had enlarged the old bathtub in the Burrow, thrown them both in it and then had scrubbed the blood and soot from their bodies when they couldn’t move. She had efficiently dressed them, had led them up the stairs to Ron’s old room, had Engorgioed the bed and tucked them in together. Only then, as she had turned away, did Ron’s hand break out from his prison of sheets and blankets and tug her skirt. "Mum," he had croaked, voice breaking. And Molly had climbed into that bed, right in between her boys and had held them to her chest even as their hearts broke in front of her. Only then, did Molly Weasley allow herself to weep for the loss of a young woman she loved as her own, and again for the son who was not coming home, and for the countless time for the son she had lost years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

"Fleur," Ron said, head shooting up. He and Harry had been sitting at the kitchen table for hours, pouring over Hermione’s notes on the sword. It had been difficult at first, every carefully considered word and detail in Hermione’s deliberate handwriting reminding Ron that she was gone. Somewhere along the way, however, he found comfort in the task, Hermione’s cool logic and encyclopedic knowledge helping him and Harry try to find a solution, try to save the world. Harry looked up and quirked an eyebrow in question.

"She was a curse breaker for Gringotts, that’s how she met Bill," Ron explained. "It wasn’t very long. She had just made it through her training and started actually working when all hell broke loose at their wedding and everyone basically went into hiding. Then she got pregnant so she decided to hold off going back until the baby was born, and then-" Ron stopped. And then, one month before the birth of their daughter, Bill had been taken, but Harry already knew that.

"I don’t think it’s a curse on Gryffindor’s sword," Harry said slowly, "but she has to be better at this than we are." Ron stood up and began gathering the parchment that was spread over the table. "Are you alright?" Harry asked tentatively. 

"Yeah," Ron said. "Feels good to have a plan, or at least to have a plan to make a plan. I don’t mind a fight, but it’s nice to be off the front lines for a change."

"I dunno," Harry said. "I kind of miss the action."

"Yes, but you are an adrenaline junkie and not to be trusted on things like self-preservation," Ron stated. "We nearly got blown up last night, how much more excitement do you want?"

"Well that was an accident, it’s not like we were planning to be in danger," Harry replied.

Ron shook his head. "You’re a bit of a head case, mate." 

They trooped into the living room, Harry shouting over his shoulder to Kreacher that they would be back in a couple hours, and Ron grasped a fistful of Floo powder and thrust his head into the fireplace as he shouted "The Hive!" When the whirling stopped he bellowed into the cheery kitchen "Oi! Fleur!"

"Ronald Weasley!" Molly Weasley’s piercing whisper cut the air, "Will you kindly lower your voice? The children are asleep!"

"Sorry Mum," Ron said softy, sheepishly. "Can Harry and I come through and talk to Fleur?"

"Of course, dear, you know you are always welcome." 

Ron went through the Floo, followed closely by Harry, whom Ron automatically reached out to steady when he stumbled out of the fireplace. Muggle-raised wizards never quite got the hang of flooing gracefully. They were enveloped in Molly Weasley’s arms half a second later. "It’s been too long," she murmured warmly.

"Hi Mrs. Weasey," Harry smiled. 

Ron looked around the kitchen, catching sight of George as he stole out of the room. "Mum, should I-" he trailed off, gesturing helplessly at the doorway.

"No, dear. He is not having a good day," she replied, looking pensively after her shattered son. George had never truly recovered after Fred was killed, but he had been determinedly distracted. He had thrown himself into work at the Wheezes with a frightening intensity, volunteered at the orphanage that Harry had started and become an overly attentive brother. Then the second war happened, friends and brothers were killed, the shop closed, and, on a gloomy winter afternoon, the Ministry fell. Arthur Weasley fell with it. George hadn’t spoken since. 

Ron sighed, "I’ll come by more often. He never sees any of us anymore." 

"I think he’d like that," Molly said softly, reaching up to pat her tallest remaining son’s cheek. "Andromeda is asleep, I think; Teddy is an absolute terror these days." Harry looked rather proud. "I believe Fleur is just sitting up listening to the wireless. I’ll go get her."

Ron wandered over and started rifling through the cupboards looking for food as Harry pulled a bag of gold out from his pocket and threw it on the table. He had been adamant to the point of mulish about supporting the Weasleys with the money in the Black vault, and Molly and Ron and the rest had been in no position to argue. There was simply no gold left. Aside from the great number of lives lost when the goblins had attacked The Ministry, the government’s coffers had also been emptied and the Department of Printing and Engraving, the department that created the currency, had been destroyed. The Wizarding World had been forced into a quasi-barter system, with a very limited number of galleons in circulation. 

Ron looked up from his cabinet as his sister-in-law entered the room. She was as beautiful as ever and he still felt the pull of her veela blood, but it was tempered by the fact that he could not see her without thinking of Bill. He watched as Harry walked over and hugged her gently, whispering a greeting, as if to show that he was not loud and obnoxious and likely to wake sleeping children. 

Fleur kissed Harry on the cheek and then turned to Ron. He mustered up a cheeky grin and swept Fleur into an enthusiastic embrace, complete with noisy kiss. It always made her laugh, and Fleur laughing was a beautiful thing. "We’ve got a job for you," he proclaimed and set her on her feet.

 

* * *

 

They had left Fleur with a glass of wine and a pile of books and notes. "Where ees the sword?" she asked.

Harry looked at Ron, "I think it’s at Hogwarts, maybe with Neville?" he ventured. 

Fleur looked at them severely over the top of her reading glasses. "How do I break a curse on somtheeng I do not ‘ave?" she demanded. 

"We’ll get it tomorrow," Ron said, resisting the urge to smack himself and then Harry on the forehead. Fleur nodded. They had wished her good night, the her only reply being a vague hand wave in their general direction. 

"Beer?" Harry asked when they got home. "Just one to unwind?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Ron said. Before Harry could move, Kreacher appeared with two bottles. "You’re good," Ron told the elf, who merely handed the beers to Harry before disappearing again.

Ron took his beer from Harry and the friends sank back onto the couch. There was no Quidditch to listen to these days, no entertaining, underground radio show since Lee had been killed, only news of war and death and poverty. Harry had thrown the wireless away over a year ago. 

"We haven’t been to Hogwarts since the Death Eater attack six months ago," Harry said.

"It’ll be nice to go there just for a visit and not for a fight," Ron said. "Even if it is fight related." Hogwarts was still one of the single safest places in the wizarding world, so classes continued even in these troubled times. When the foolish, and fortunately largely ineffective, Death Eaters had attacked the school in a misguided attempt to right old wrongs, at least in their view, the response from what was left of the Ministry had been immediate and ferocious. Ron had been captured for a short time and subjected to Crucio by various old friends, including Draco and Lucius Malfoy, who appeared to be incapable of learning their lesson. Harry had burst in only a few hours later, wild eyed and literally glowing with rage and power. He had disarmed and bound five Death Eaters before they had registered his presence and then proceeded to untie Ron. Harry was shaking nearly as much as Ron was as he loosed his friend, taking an extra minute to smooth Ron’s shaggy red hair with his fingers before gently pulling Ron to his feet and restoring his wand. Later, Harry had sworn that he had found him by following Ron’s Patronus, the one he had since Hermione had died, her otter. Ron hadn’t cast a Patronus and his wand had been in Malfoy’s back pocket for hours.

"Neville will be glad to see us," Harry said. "We’re terrible about visiting people."

They finished their drinks in companionable silence. Ron thought about asking for a game of chess but decided that it was too late and he was too tired. "I’m for bed," he said, standing and stretching, watching Harry’s eyes following the line of his body as he arched. Ron held out his hand, "You coming?" 

Harry looked up, green eyes drowsy, "I’ll be up in a minute," he said. Ron shrugged, not happy about climbing the stairs to bed alone, but not wanting to express such an odd feeling. As he turned away, Harry said, "Today was good." Ron looked at him quizzically. Harry shrugged and smiled slightly. "I dunno, I just. . . had a good day. I haven’t had a good day in a long time."

Ron gave into the overwhelming urge that rose up inside him, buoyed on a wave of fierce, unexplainable, unalterable love and dependence, and pressed a firm kiss to Harry’s forehead before he climbed the stairs to bed. 

* * *

The day they destroyed Ministry of Magic was the day that the humans realized the true danger of the situation. They were, after all human, and therefore must be cleverer, more powerful, more threatening than any sub-creature, like a goblin. But goblins are patient.

They bided their time, observed their target, understood the underlying foolish ego and attacked. The goblins suffered some losses, but the gain far outweighed the purchase price. When the Ministry fell, it brought down with it the wizards' symbol of power, their financial system, and their confidence, leaving them grasping and gasping and suddenly very afraid.

* * *

"The problem is, Mr. Weasley, that you just can’t take the Sword of Gryffindor," Minerva McGonagall said, sitting at her desk. They had arrived in time to have breakfast with Neville before he had to teach classes. It had been good to see their old friend. Despite his initial misgivings about not actively participating in the war effort, Neville was exactly where he should be. Kingsley had made it a point to express to Neville that he slept better at night knowing that the teachers at Hogwarts were ready and able to defend their students, and Neville had taken that charge seriously. He still held Dumbledore’s Army meetings once a week in the Room of Requirement.

"It’s right here though," Ron said, looking pointedly at the sword that was gleaming in its usual place of honor in the Head of Hogwart’s office. "Sitting there, waiting to be taken. Just don’t let anybody do anything brave before Fleur figures out how to break the charm."

Harry frowned, "Professor, I know that this sword is important to the school, but surely-"

McGonagall directed an icy stare in Harry’s direction. "Do you really think I would refuse you an object, no matter how important, when the entire world is suffering?" 

"No, ma’am," Harry replied, looking down. Ron felt his ears blush in sympathy but was very glad that he had not been the one to receive McGonagall’s reprimand.

"As I was saying," she continued, disapproving eyes still turned towards Harry. "It doesn’t work like that. The sword has to remain here. Mrs. Delacour-Weasley will have to come here."

"I don’t understand," Ron said, and flinched when Minerva turned her eyes on him. "Professor, I’ve seen the sword out of the castle. I’ve even seen it far away from the grounds."

"Minerva, if I may," Dumbledore’s painting interrupted. 

"Certainly, Albus," Minerva inclined her head towards the painting.

"Ron, the Sword of Gryffindor is tied to the castle, as this was Godric Gryffindor’s home for a century and his final resting place. You and Harry have witnessed both circumstances in which the sword can leave the school. The most obvious is through the Sorting hat. Mr. Longbottom proved himself to be a true Gryffindor through his acts of courage and was able to pull the sword out of the hat. You must remember that the Sorting hat is sensitive to any person it is in physical contact with. It measures their emotions and personality and abilities, but it also reads intent. It is the combination of intent and need that may cause Gryffindor’s sword to go to a person, for true courage is an act of will. Without the Sorting hat, it is a rare person who acquires the sword, although Mr. Weasley managed it," Dumbledore smiled proudly down at Ron from his place on the wall. "Only a person who has proven himself can pull Gryffindor’s sword out of the Sorting Hat and only the last person to pull the sword out of the hat can take it from the castle’s grounds." 

The Headmistress cleared her throat, causing the painting to stop talking and raise an eyebrow at her, "For your purposes, gentlemen, to take the sword from the school, you are going to either have to take the Sorting Hat and perform a courageous act in a desperate situation to make it appear, or Professor Longbottom is going to have to carry it for you. When I said that you just can’t take the Sword of Gryffindor, I meant that you physically won’t be able to carry it out."

Harry nodded slowly, "Then Fleur will come here, with your permission, ma’am," he said and McGonagall nodded. "If she needs to have it moved, Neville can help."

"Whatever Hogwarts can do, Mr. Potter. We are at your disposal, although it does occur to me that Neville would be able to deliver this sword to the goblins for you." McGonagall said.

Ron looked over at Harry, who met his eyes with a small nod, "Professor, no one doubts Neville’s courage, but whoever is going to go into Gringotts with that sword might not be coming back out. Neville’s not an Auror or involved in the fighting in any way. He hasn’t been trained in goblin combat. If there is no other way, then we’ll consider it, but that can’t be the plan."

"Well then call Mrs. Delacour-Weasley and we’ll begin." Minerva McGonagall said.

 

* * *

 

"I have no idea how they did it," Ron said impatiently from his place on the Minister of Magic’s couch, "But the Headmistress and Fleur and Dumbledore’s painting say that the charm is broken, so it must be."

"I agree, those are impeccable sources, Ron," Kingsley said. "I don’t doubt them, I’m just curious as to how she did it. I’ll ask Fleur next time I visit the family."

"Almost broken," Harry corrected. "The sword needs to jump once more to break it entirely. One more act of courage to sort of overload the weakened spell."

"And who exactly will be performing this act of courage, Harry? Kingsley asked wearily, already knowing the answer.

"We will," Harry confirmed looking sideways at Ron who nodded.

"You do realize that you are not the only Aurors in the department. Not even the only competent Aurors."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, "but I’m the only Auror in the department mentioned by name in the goblin’s grievances." And Ron hated it, hated it with every fiber of his being. Why was it always Harry, he wondered.

Kingsley’s lips tightened before he jerked his head in acceptance, "Fine. This is your mission. How are you planning on making the sword jump to you?"

"We borrowed the Sorting Hat," Ron said, pulling the ancient hat out of his cloak pocket, "and we’re walking into Gringott’s fully expecting to get slaughtered."

Kingsley frowned. "Very comforting Ron, I’ll be sure to let your mother know that I sent you to your death with a hat for a shield."

"It’s pretty simple, sir," Harry said, "We’ll go to the bank and knock on the door. We’ll bring the standard binding contract for negotiations, the one that allows the goblins to set the location and you to set the day and that wards every named party into the designated meeting spot at the correct time, neutralizing all magic and weapons. We’ll offer ourselves as good faith ambassadors and the sword flat out."

"Simple," Kingsley repeated, shaking his head. "Harry. Ron," he addressed them both with somber eyes, "I do not want you to do this." He held up his hand for silence as Ron opened his mouth to protest. "I’m speaking for myself personally, not as Minister of Magic. The Minister is fully aware of the fact that this is the best chance we’ve had in years for resolution. But I do not want to send you two into this situation." He looked at Ron. "I do not want to have to tell my husband that, while he was doing his part spying on the New Order, I did my part by sending his little brother and his little brother’s best friend to their death. I have already had to tell Molly about Bill and Arthur and Hermione. I can’t stand the thought of having to make another call like that to her. I don’t want to be responsible for breaking my family’s heart." Kingsley let out a long sigh. "I also don’t think that George’s mind would survive losing you two. It’s just too much to take."

Ron’s heart constricted. He had purposely been keeping this out of his mind. He had sworn Fleur to secrecy about the sword but hadn’t told her what they planned to do with it. Fleur knew something was going on, but not enough to worry her unduly. It didn’t matter though. All the worry in the world wasn’t going to keep him from going with Harry, or from doing his job. His family had known that for years.

Ron stood and offered his hand to Kingsley who took it and shook it. "You know we have to do this, sir," he said, then added softly, "Harry and I have come out of some tough places, Kingsley. We’ve been in hard fights. We can come back from this."

Harry stood beside them and clapped his hand on Kingsley’s back. "Besides, we have the goblins love for accounting and order and balance helping us out here. They won’t be able to resist looking at the contract, they’ll have their sword, they’ll have people willing to bargain," he shrugged. "We’ve faced worse odds."

Kingsley swept his long arms out wide and pulled them both into a tight hug. "All courage and hope and fight the two of you. Be safe," he said, and let go of them, turning back into the Minister of Magic. "You’ll be going into Diagon Alley at 0800?" They nodded. "Very well, I will advise the guards to let you through The Leakey Cauldron at that time."

Harry and Ron stood up straight and saluted sharply. "Permission to depart, sir?" Ron asked. 

Kingsley visibly gathered himself before he replied. "Permission granted, gentlemen," he said, returning the salute. "Good luck."

And Harry and Ron Apparated to Grimmuald Place, leaving the Minister of Magic staring into the fireplace.

* * *

"Now call your mum," Harry said immediately after Apparating into their kitchen.

"I can’t, Harry. She’ll know something’s wrong. I can’t do that to her."

"No! What you can’t do is go on this cocked up death wish of a mission without saying good-bye," Harry shouted. "Ron," he said, softening his tone as he rose from the table to stand before his friend. "She has been holding everyone together for so long now. If she loses- Look, you have to at least send her an owl. Just, let her know that we’re going."

Ron’s shoulders fell. Harry was right, but he couldn’t go over there. At least here, with just him and Harry he could ignore what another loss might do to his family. Not think about George’s silence. Not remember Ginny’s desperation. He sighed, pulled out his wand and summoned up a happy thought of he and Hermione throwing their arms around Harry as he staggered, tired but alive, from defeating Voldemort. "Expecto Patronum!" The otter swam out of the tip of his wand and into the air. It settled down to the floor in front of him and raised its head to receive Ron’s message. "Mum," Ron began trying not to think about this small act of cowardice, "Harry and I are going on a mission tomorrow. Don’t know how long we’ll be, but we’ll Floo you when we get back. Give everyone a kiss from us and give Fleur an extra kiss from me," he faltered and then continued "We love you Mum." Ron lowered the wand and the watched as his Patronus waited, eyes soft and sad and achingly familiar. For the first time, Ron didn’t just tap its head. He slid his hand over the warm energy, stroking where slick fur should have been, gathering strength from the memory and the love and the loss that had shattered him. The otter seemed to heave a sigh before it trundled over to Harry who scratched the Patronus under the chin with a half-smile. 

As the otter faded into the night, Harry moved closer to Ron. "We need to talk," Harry said. "I-" he stopped, sighing and pinched the bridge of his nose before he muttered to himself, "I’d give anything to keep you from that bloody bank tomorrow."

"You and I are not having this argument again," Ron said, goaded into pushing Harry’s shoulders a little, just hard enough that Harry stumbled back into the wall. 

"What?" Harry asked. "No. No, I wouldn’t ask you to- Look, I’m not stupid, you know. As much as I want you safe, I wouldn’t ask you to stay behind, just like you never ask me to stay behind, no matter how much you want me out of danger." Harry reached out and out, grasped Ron’s hand and tugged him closer, until there were only inches between them and Ron’s breath hitched. "Where I go, you go." Harry said, making it sound like a vow.

Ron swallowed and Harry moved the hand he was holding and spread it out over his heart, "Where I go, you go" Ron repeated, meaning it as he felt Harry’s heart beat beneath his palm. Felt it pushing the blood through his friend’s body, the steady pulse of Harry’s life tapping against his fingers. "With you," Ron affirmed. "No matter what," and he kissed him.

Harry’s mouth was waiting and open and he moaned Ron’s name before he threaded his fingers through red hair and pulled hard. Ron pushed Harry into the wall, pressing forcefully with his entire body, one hand still splayed over Harry’s heart, the other resting against the wall next to Harry’s head.

Harry broke the kiss and looked up with desperate eyes, fingers tightening in Ron’s hair. "Want you" he said. "Don’t say no."

"Yes, Harry," Ron whispered into his ear, sucking gently on Harry’s soft lobe before biting down on it. "Fuck, yes."

Harry surged off the kitchen wall and spun them so that it was Ron’s back that was against the hard surface, and then he positively devoured his best friend. Harry’s hands and mouth were everywhere. He bit and sucked and clung in a dizzying, chaotic pattern, sinking his teeth into Ron’s shoulder, sucking a nipple through his worn t-shirt, pushing his hands under his hem and running his rough palms down Ron’s bare sides, fingers bumping over every rib of his too lean frame.

Ron was consumed. By Harry, by lust, by fear of what the morning would bring, by his overwhelming need to possess and be possessed. He wanted to sink into Harry until they had only one heart beat and one mind, so that no goblin or Death Eater or illness or accident could ever separate them. And suddenly, kissing and groping in the kitchen wasn’t enough. A rough, hard fuck against a wall or on the table half clothed wasn’t enough. This was Harry, and Harry was his. 

"Harry," Ron mumbled, even as he arched into the stray hand that brushed against his crotch. "Harry, mate, upstairs." He grabbed a handful of wild black hair and pulled Harry’s mouth off his collar bone. "Upstairs," Ron repeated.

Harry blinked and then turned on his heel and ran, managing to pull his shirt off and throw it at Ron’s head before he got out of the kitchen. Ron caught the shirt out of reflex and then dropped it on the floor and sprinted after him, only to come to an abrupt halt outside his room. "In a hurry, are you?" he asked, staring at the sight of Harry, sans glasses, hopping up and down on one foot as he tried to get out of his jeans.

"Wasted too much time already," Harry said, finally sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his jeans and pants off. He strode, naked, across the room toward the still fully-dressed Ron. He took two fistfuls of shirt and hauled Ron roughly against him, sliding his erection on Ron’s denim clad thigh. "We have tonight. Merlin only knows what’ll happen tomorrow, but tonight, you are mine and I am done with pretending otherwise," and Harry tore the shirt off Ron’s body before he dropped to his knees in front of him.

"Oh gods, Harry," Ron nearly whimpered as Harry laid his open lips on Ron’s crotch and lightly but deliberately bit, the pressure discernable through jeans. "Harry," he repeated, sliding his fingers under his Harry’s chin, gently forcing his head up. Ron caught his breath as he stared down into Harry’s beautiful eyes, his chin resting against Ron’s thigh. "No reason to pretend. I’ve always known who I belong to." 

Harry surged up, kissing Ron desperately as he fumbled with Ron’s jeans. They struggled together to get Ron out of his clothes, stumbling until the back of Harry’s knees hit the bed. Ron didn’t hesitate. He pushed Harry to the bed and kicked his jeans off his ankles and climbed onto the bed, his knees tight on either side of Harry’s body, feeling Harry’s erection against his ass. Ron reached out a tentative finger and touched the very top of Harry’s lightning bolt scar and he traced the mark, that symbol burnt into flesh.

Harry smiled up at Ron, placed a hand on each shoulder and dragged the back of his knuckles along the raised edges of the faded silver brain scars. When he got to Ron’s wrists, his smile widened and he tugged. Ron crashed down on to Harry, causing them both to huff out air at the force of their chests meeting. 

Harry wrapped his legs around Ron’s waist and rolled them over so that he was on top before leaning down to run his open mouth against Ron’s collarbone, grazing it with his teeth as he shifted his hips experimentally. His eyes went dark and he fell forward, hands on either side of Ron’s face, licked his tongue into Ron’s open mouth and started a hard grinding rolling that dragged their cocks together with nearly painful friction.

Ron’s hands flew over the planes of Harry’s smooth body, clutching to his friend. Needing, wanting, writhing. Desperate for more heat, more intimacy, more – more- more Harry. He flipped Harry off his body and swung one leg over Harry’s head before grasping the base of Harry’s cock and sucking the head into his mouth. He felt Harry’s gasp against his inner thigh, the humid breath tightening his stomach into a knot. Ron inhaled sharply as he slid his lips down Harry’s shaft, one hand moving to cup Harry’s balls, the other grasping Harry’s leg, digging scraggly fingernails into hair-roughened skin when he felt Harry lick him from base to tip.

Harry’s hips thrust up even as Ron’s thrust down and they were suddenly fucking each other’s mouths. Choking and consuming and teeth grazing and hot and sloppy and wet. Muffled curses and half heard apologies and just them. All they needed and wanted. All they were. All they had been. And all they would ever be joined in one unending circle of imperfect flesh. 

 

* * *

It was the brightness of the rising sun that woke Ron. He tightened his grip on Harry before looking down at the head against his heart. Harry’s eyes were open and steady. The grim joy of the night before had given way to a grimmer determination at dawn. They looked at each other intently, neither willing to break the gaze until Ron dragged Harry firmly on top of his body and kissed him fiercely. If this was going to be Ron’s last day on earth, he was going to start it right. 

* * *

Harry really did have a wonderful poker face, Ron observed. The plan, the hare-brained arse of a plan hadn’t worked. The sword hadn’t come, and where Ron would have shook the Sorting Hat and yelled "What the hell more would you like me to do, tie one hand behind my back?" at it, Harry had just calmly looked up at Urg, the leader of the U.K. goblin clan, and offered to summon Neville to bring the sword.

"No, Mr. Potter. I don’t believe that I’ll allow you to send any message anywhere."

Oh how Ron wanted to blast the bastard, but it would defeat the entire purpose. Just like on a night long ago when he wouldn’t let Hermione take down a giant bent on destruction. To attack would tear the whole, precariously balancing tower down around their ears.

"Sir," Harry said, "the intent was to bring you the sword. There was a miscalculation, if you would just allow myself, or Ron, to send a Patronus with a message then we can continue discussing the possibility of another negotiation while we wait for Neville to arrive." 

Ron offered the contract to Urg, who briefly glanced at it without taking it. "I am not interested in what you might have brought to the table, Mr. Potter, I am only concerned with what you didn’t," Urg paused and then continued thoughtfully. "It was a gesture of extreme naiveté to send the wizarding community’s hero, the tipping point for the current conflict, for such a bungling attempt at peace," Urg said as the goblins fanned out to circle Ron and Harry, their footsteps echoing in the enormous underground chamber. "If we can’t have the sword, I do believe we’ll keep you." 

"What will that gain you?" Harry asked calmly, even as Ron slowly rolled the contract back up and put it in his pocket, using the motion to mask the fact that his heart had just dropped to his feet.

Urg bared his teeth in chilling smile, "Fog of war, Mr. Potter. Just think of the confusion, the outrage when they discover your head mounted on a pike outside this door. There might be a slight chance that you are more intelligent than you appear to be and could prove useful in other respects. There’s a chance we might keep you, as we keep a small number of others, in our vaults; another asset on the ledger, so to speak, but I doubt there is anything that you can offer alive that would be more satisfying than your death." 

"Others?" Ron broke in. "Which others?"

"Surely you don’t think that we terminated all of our former employees, Mr. Weasley? That would be a waste of good resources."

"Is Bill alive?" Ron asked urgently, abandoning even the pretense of cool detachment. "Is Bill Weasley still alive?"

Urg merely turned back to Harry. "As compensation for your good faith in coming here, albeit empty handed, we’ll let your Mr. Weasley walk out the door. If he can bring back the sword, then we will consider entering negotiations with the Ministry of Magic and other wizarding governments across the world."

"Harry as collateral," Ron stated distractedly, still wild with the possibility that his brother might, even now, be in the bank and alive. "If you let me go now, I will figure out a way to bring that bloody sword back here tonight."

"Now, Mr. Weasley," Urg tilted his head back languidly, "Mr. Potter likely won’t be alive to be let go. You must understand that I couldn’t deny my people their . . . pleasure of him after he has caused so much trouble. But the great hero will fulfill his role to die for the greater good, and the sidekick will go forth in sorrow to bring our two societies to the bargaining table. And so," the goblin smirked, "the boy emerges from the shadows and becomes a man." 

"Not a chance," Ron snarled, squaring off and drawing his wand, ignoring Harry’s restraining hand. "Not a chance do I walk through that door without Harry."

"It wasn’t a request, Mr. Weasley. Surely, a professional Auror understands that the good of the many outweighs the good of the one," Urg shrugged. "As you like though, we can certainly kill you as well since you are so determined to die. There would be no one to retrieve the sword of course and therefore no agreement for peace talks, but who am I to deny a selfish boy his wishes?"

The circle of goblins tightened around them, and Ron steeled himself to die next to Harry, not the worst way to go, he reckoned as he automatically assumed a defensive stance, fighting with his best mate.

"He’ll do it. I’ll stay with you and he’ll get the sword," Harry’s voice rang out.

"We’ve talked about this, Harry," Ron said through gritted teeth, his back to Harry’s as they faced the approaching enemy. 

"I know we have, but the situation has changed." Harry moved from his post at Ron’s back and walked around to face Ron. "This is bigger than you and me, Ron. You have to let me go." Ron froze. Harry put his hands on either side of his friend’s head, trapping Ron in his intent stare. "You have to let me go," he repeated softly. 

And Ron saw that Harry knew exactly what he was asking him to do, saw it in the misery in his clear green eyes. He shook his head in denial. "I- I can’t," he pleaded. "Please don’t ask me not to fight with you, for you. I can do anything, anything you want, but not this."

A humorless smile tugged up the corners of Harry’s lips, "Thought you’d be ready to be rid of me. Nothing but trouble, you always say."

"Don’t joke right now," Ron choked, his hands moving to cover Harry’s as he leaned his forehead against his friend’s. "You can’t leave me here by myself."

"I’m sorry, Ron," Harry said, despair in his voice. "There’s no other way. I can’t go with you and you can’t stay with me. This is our chance." His tone twisted wryly, darkly, "That’s chess, Ron. You’ve got to make some sacrifices." 

"Of all the things I’ve ever said, that’s what you’re going to remember?" Ron asked, knowing he was going to lose, knowing that his life was about to unalterably change for the worse, even as the world rediscovered hope.

"No," Harry said, "I’m going to remember that you are the bravest person I’ve ever met, that you kissed me, told me you loved me and that you’d take care of the world, our family and yourself, and then you walked away." 

"Harry," Ron whispered. 

"I love you, Ron," Harry said, stepping back slightly. He reached into his pocket to pull out the sorting hat and put it in Ron’s hand.

Ron swallowed and, grasping the hat in one hand and Harry’s hip in the other, he kissed his best friend. He concentrated hard, committing Harry to memory, his smell and his taste, the catching sob that became trapped between them. It ached, that kiss, all that power and light that was Harry Potter burned through Ron as he said good-bye.

"I love you," Ron gasped as they broke apart, determined not to cry. Determined that the last image he had of Harry was not going to be blurred with tears. "I promise that I will take care of the world and our family, and – and myself."

Harry nodded, stepped out from Ron’s arms and smiled his brilliant, warm smile. It was brittle around the edges, but it was genuine and proud, and Ron couldn’t help but smile back. Then he sketched a salute, turned around, and walked away. 

* * *

He moved blindly through the circle of goblins, out the chamber and down the marble hall. Ron’s mind raced, considering and rejecting one plan after another, grasping for a last-minute miracle, until he was forced to acknowledge defeat. He stumbled, catching himself against a pillar before staggering forward, onward towards a world without Harry in it. 

The sorting hat grew warm in his hand and Ron stopped in surprise. Wonderingly, he pushed his hand inside the worn material and grasped the pommel of the Sword of Gryffindor. Hope pierced through his heart, and he turned on his heel and sprinted back down the hall, shouting "Harry! Harry, I have the sword!"

He burst into the chamber to see Harry, still standing in the middle of the circle of goblins. "Ron," he said, his eyes lighting up even as he frowned. 

"Harry the sword," Ron started forward before he was stopped by a dagger to his throat. "Please," Ron addressed the goblin blocking him from Harry, "I have the sword. It came out of the hat, like we said it would. You can have it," he offered, thrusting the sword, still in the hat, at the goblin. "Take it. The charm should be broken. Take the whole damn hat if you want to. I don’t care. Just let him go."

The goblin lowered the dagger and took the sword from Ron, moving across the circle to hand the sword to Urg. Ron didn’t move. He knew that if he touched Harry, he wouldn’t be able to let him go again. He simply was not strong enough.

Urg came forward slowly. "You are giving this to us freely? The Sorting Hat, one of the most prized possessions of Hogwarts?" he questioned. 

"I am," said Ron. "We believe that the spell that makes the sword move has been broken, but even if it hasn’t, here is the hat that it disappears to."

"Do you have the authority to make that decision?" the elderly goblin asked.

"I take responsibility for it," Ron replied honestly. "It will not be taken from you." He’d deal with McGonagall later, but he was positive that she wouldn’t begrudge Harry a hat, no matter how extraordinary.

"You are an interesting wizard, Mr. Weasley," Urg said. "Your loyalty to Mr. Potter has been your defining characteristic, to the point of foolishness in some circumstances, yet you were willing to let him go." Ron held Urg’s stare. "Let me see that contract again," the goblin said, holding out his hand.

Ron walked across the circle, passing wide of Harry, not even meeting his eyes as he balanced on the precipice of hope and loss. He handed the scroll to Urg. Ron watched as the goblin scanned the document.

"Agreed," Urg said.

"Agreed?" Ron repeated.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Urg said, pulling a quill out of his suit pocket and signing the contract. "We agree to a cessation of aggression until the negotiation next month." Urg looked up at Ron as he rolled up the contract. "You two make quite an impression, one willing to sacrifice his life, the other willing to sacrifice his love, both for the purpose of peace. If that sort of desperation is prevalent in your community, then perhaps you are ready to hear our demands. We are willing to attempt to come to terms."

"And Harry?" Ron asked. He felt like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown at the abrupt change of situation. 

"Your Mr. Potter is free to leave," Urg replied. "Griphook will see you out." With that, the circle of goblins dispersed, melting into the dark. 

Ron stood staring into the shadows where Urg had disappeared, shocked into stillness. He felt a cold hand grasp his wrist. "C’mon, Ron," Harry said gently, lacing his fingers with Ron’s. Ron started, then gripped Harry’s hand tightly and allowed him to pull him out of the chamber, down the hall, and out the front door. Griphook pushed them out the door, and then pulled, and the two friends stood alone once again in the eerie silence of Diagon Alley. In that echoingly empty street, Harry turned to Ron and pulled him into his arms as Ron began to shake. 

* * *

It wasn’t until hours later that Ron could really talk to Harry, but after his mum had been called and Kingsley had been visited and debriefed, and after Kreacher had fed them, they climbed the stairs together and fell wearily into bed.

They lay side by side, front to front, pressed together as tightly as possible, Harry’s head tucked beneath Ron’s chin. Ron felt the tension finally seeping out of his body as he held the warm and alive Harry, his Harry, in the dark. "I thought I was going to die," Ron said, breaking the silence. "I was ready for it, that we weren’t going to make it out of there alive. I never thought that I’d have to leave you," his voice broke. "I don’t think I could do it again." He buried his face in Harry’s hair, breathing deeply.

Harry lifted his head so that he was nose to nose with Ron. "You could, Ron. You could if you had to."

Ron was not convinced. In fact, he was fairly sure that Harry was dead wrong, but it wasn’t the time to argue. "Just don’t test me again, alright?" He said, brushing his lips over Harry’s.

"Alright," Harry said a smile in his voice as he deepened the kiss. They disengaged slowly and settled further down into the bed, just holding each other.

Harry fell asleep quickly, but Ron lay awake for a long time. Nothing was solved with the goblins really, but there was the possibility of resolution. The New Order and the Death Eaters were still in operation, though there was a chance that the New Order would come around in light of the goblin negotiations, or at least that Ginny might come around. Bill might be alive, and Ron’s head reeled at that possibility. Kingsley had promised to make that conversation part of the negotiations. No, nothing was solved, Ron thought as he breathed with Harry in the dark, but there was considerably more hope than there had been the day before.


End file.
